Victory March
by rosieth
Summary: John has just left Sarah for Sherlock, parting on good terms. Sherlock texts his brother to celebrate, helps John overcome his guilt and goes on a romantic date in a fancy restaraunt. Third fic in three fic series. Enjoy? perhaps
1. Brothers in Arms

AN: Ok, this is the first chapter of what I plan on being a three chapter fic. It follows on from Its Like Warfare and Ceasefire. It isn't necessary to have read either of the previous fics, but it might help and I would certainly appreciate it. Reviews are welcomed warmly. I hope the second chapter will be up within a few days. But mostly I just hope that you enjoy reading. Love Rose.

Sherlock stared at his phone, as though he were trying to make it explode with his eyes. He wished it would just come to him, but the technology hadn't been invented yet. He exhaled heavily, to make it clear to his phone that he was annoyed with its lack of cooperation.

"John. I need you to pass me my phone."

He sat there, waiting to hear movement but no one came. Damn it, he thought, John must have gone out. Then he remembered that John was supposed to be working a shift at the clinic that afternoon. He briefly pondered how John might handle having to face Sarah after the previous night, if she was also working this afternoon of course. It would only be awkward on John's end, he concluded. Sarah had known for a while that this was coming and had been able to prepare herself for it, Sherlock had seen it clearly. He allowed himself a little smile at the thought of his victory. It had been kind of like warfare between them, with Sherlock being the more aggressive of the parties. His tactics had paid off rather pleasurably earlier this morning, he congratulated himself. Yet another reason that it might be awkward at John's end if he faced the woman he had just ended a relationship with. After all, it had been less than 24 hours after the split that John had made it clear what the real reason was, to Sherlock at least. He stared at the skull on the mantle, deep in thought about John. His fingertips were together, touching his nose and his posture was weighted forwards. He sat like that for what could have been minutes, or hours, until he heard activity at the base of the stairs. The clicking of thick, low heeled shoes told Sherlock that Mrs. Hudson had just arrived home. He remained motionless as he heard the landlady mounting the stairs, noting yet again that she seemed to have remarkably little trouble for someone her age.

"Hello there Sherlock. Up and about again I see."

He moved only his eyes, the rest of his body still in the same position he had adopted however long ago it was. He could see from the smile on her face that she knew exactly what he and John had been doing earlier, and that it was a cause for celebration to her. Of course, there was also the fact that she had used the word again. Sherlock had always told himself that little old ladies were of great use when it came to observing, and Mrs. Hudson was proving herself to be no exception to that rule. She had been aware that Sherlock had been up once, probably because she had heard him working in the kitchen when she had given John the nice new kettle that she had bought them. Obviously, he acknowledged, she also knew that he had returned to his bedroom where he had engaged in activities that did not necessarily require one to be 'up and about'.

"Yes, it is a lovely day. We wouldn't want to waste it now, would we?"

He flashed her his best smile, the one with a hint of mischief, which seemed to bring delight to her. She returned the expression with her own smile that said to Sherlock that she knew his morning activities had been of the naughty kind.

"Oh, a lovely day indeed dear. I must say, you two were making a bit of noise earlier. Not to worry though. It is so nice to see you two finally starting to really enjoy yourselves. I took it upon myself to give you a bit of privacy. Besides, I needed to do a bit of shopping anyway. I forgot quite a few things when I went and fetched that kettle for you."

Sherlock felt a strong urge to laugh as he thought about how mortified John would be were he to hear that. He watched as she unloaded two shopping bags full of groceries into the pantry. He permitted a small smile to escape when he realised that she had bought nothing that needed to be refrigerated. It seemed that nobody but him trusted food that had been placed in the cooling device. He gave a slight start when the message tone of his phone rang out across the living room.

"Mrs Hudson, would you mind passing me my phone? It is resting on the mantle, to the left of the envelopes with the jackknife stabbed through them."

The older woman poked her head out from around the corner and made a slight show out of looking at Sherlock and the phone. He thought for a moment that she might refuse, but she simply shook her head before she kindly picked up the phone and carried over to him.

"One of these days, you are going to have to find the energy to do such simple things for yourself."

It was meant to be a scolding comment, but she had a twinkle in her eye that told Sherlock that she like being made to feel useful. She must have finished in the kitchen for she entered the stairwell and began to descend the stairs. Looking at the phone now in his hand, Sherlock noted that the screen was flashing, telling him that he had one new message. Sliding his finger across the screen, he opened it up and saw that it was from John.

[**Will finish shift at 6. Doubt anything safe to eat in fridge. Shall I pick up some Chinese?**]

He quickly typed out a response, grateful that John had not suggested that Sherlock try cooking. He might have been able to handle marmalade on toast, but anything much more complicated and they would be risking house fire or food poisoning.

[**Chinese is fine but no soup. I don't trust the soup. -SH.**]

It was the truth. Sherlock had heard of dreadful experiences of the soup from reliable sources. Until he had a chance to perform some tests on the quality of the food, he would not be eating it. Sherlock looked at the time on the phone's display. It read 4:54 pm. How annoying. That meant that there was still about an hour before John finished work and probably another half an hour after that before he arrived home. That was no good because Sherlock was bored. He stared at the phone that was sitting in his hand as though daring it to ring, but it simply sat there silently. Well, if no one wanted to contact him, Sherlock would just have to contact someone himself. He contemplated texting Lestrade, but decided against it as he recalled that he had been warned against doing so if it wasn't related to something important. Lestrade had firmly told Sherlock that curing boredom was not considered important by most peoples standards. John was working, so that left him out. Sherlock groaned when he realised who his only other option was. As selected the option to write a new message, Sherlock decided he had to be extremely bored to resort to communicating with this particular person. He typed out a very brief message and hit send.

[**I win. -SH**.]

He knew that he would not have to wait long for a reply. He never did, Sherlock thought smugly to himself. The phone's message tone went off less than 30 seconds after Sherlock had sent his initial text.

[**Congratulations. Do you want me to throw you a party? -MH.**]

That was the last thing Sherlock wanted, but he knew that Mycroft was trying to be humourous. Sherlock typed out his reply rapidly, hitting the send button as fast as he could.

[**You know that I hate your parties. -SH.**]

It wasn't long before the next reply.

[**Shall I send flowers then? -MH.**]

No thank you, Sherlock thought to himself. The idea of Mycroft sending flowers to anyone seemed comical and rather preposterous.

[**Flowers are for weddings and funerals. -SH.**]

Not strictly true when it came to ordinary people, but Sherlock simply couldn't imagine any other occasion where it would fit. Mycroft just wasn't the flower sending type, and Sherlock certainly wasn't the sort of person who liked receiving them. Unless he was performing some kind of experiment on the decomposition rates or how long the cutting could survive. The message tone disrupted Sherlock's thoughts.

[**No church bells on the horizon then? How disappointing. -MH.**]

Well, that should have been expected. Sherlock hadn't said what he had won but most people would have assumed something along the lines of a sporting competition or a case. Of course, Mycroft was not like most people.

[**Church bells? I haven't even told you what I won. You are correct though, I won John. -SH.**]

Sherlock knew he was just bragging now, but he didn't care. He was very pleased with his victory and he planned on letting everyone know that.

[**Of course I am correct. I like weddings you know. You learn such wonderful details from observing people at special occasions. -MH.**]

The last line might be true, but there was no way Sherlock could let the opportunity to tease his brother pass him by.

[**Oh don't give me that. You only like weddings for the reception food. -SH.**]

He was on fire today. Brilliant comeback Sherlock, he congratulated himself.

[**If you got married, you might settle down. It would make life much more leisurely for me. I do worry about you, you know. -MH.]**

Clearly Mycroft was choosing to ignore Sherlock's jibe at his weight. Sherlock felt tempted to make a joke about how leisurely Mycroft's life really was but it was no fun if Mycroft didn't rise to the bait. Pretending he didn't see the part about marriage and settling down, which slightly freaked him out, Sherlock decided to concentrate on the third sentence.

[**Worry? Is that what you call it? I call it interfering. -SH.**]

At least Sherlock wasn't bored now. His typing was getting faster, and Mycroft's replies were coming through quicker and quicker.

[**Doesn't a brother have a right to know how is little brother is going? -MH.**]

No, Sherlock thought, they don't.

[**Most brother's ask rather than spy. -SH.**]

Sherlock was starting to feel a little bit angry now.

[**Most brother's talk about their, ahem, experiences. -MH.**]

Sherlock sat bolt upright as he read that particular text. He had not just bought _that_ up had he? Why on earth did Mycroft think that Sherlock would want to go into any of those sort of details with him?

[**If you are implying what I think you are implying... -SH.**]

Sherlock hoped that his annoyance was being translated into his texts.

[**Implying? Oh no, just observing. -MH.**]

Honestly, Mycroft could be simply insufferable when he wanted to be, Sherlock brooded. He wasn't going to dignify that text with a response. He sat there with his arms folded across his chest and phone resting on his lap for a full two minutes before it began to ring. The screen told him that it was Mycroft calling. It made sense that Mycroft would call the instant Sherlock stopped replying quickly. Mycroft hated to text if he could call. Sherlock considered not answering it for a few moments, but could not miss the chance to vent his anger. It was either talk to Mycroft or be bored. A conversation with Mycroft was slightly less excruciating.

"Good Afternoon Mycroft. I hear you have been concerning yourself with matters that are not yours to concern yourself with."

"You are family Sherlock, I have every right to be concerned."

"If it were only concern then it wouldn't be an issue."

"You sound upset Sherlock. Is it something that I said?"

"Oh no, of course not. Most people love it when their relatives pry into their intimate relationships without permission. It's one of their favourite things in fact."

"Sarcasm suits you Sherlock."

"As it does with you."

"No need to be so caustic. After all, you did start this whole thing off when you bragged about your conquest."

"I sent you a text that said I win."

"Yes. And I knew exactly what it was you had won. You know me better than what you are trying to let on Sherlock. Neither of us is stupid, so let's not play those sorts of games."

"Games? This isn't a game Mycroft. I'm not the only one involved in this. If John were to find out that you have strong enough surveillance on us that you could figure out when we had had sex, he would be absolutely mortified."

"I think the whole neighbourhood knows that you had sex this morning Sherlock."

"Were we really that loud?"

"Oh. Have you stopped shouting at me now?"

"Mycroft!"

"I know for a fact that a little old lady three doors down heard you. So did one of my men who was grabbing a bite to eat at the sandwich bar."

"John is going to kill me."

"Maybe next time you should wear a gag."

"Mycroft, no. Do not talk about those sorts of things. It feels horrible and weird coming from you."

"What, you think I don't know about how to spice up a sex life?"

"Stop it now. I don't want to know what you know about sex lives. Also, I am perfectly capable of spicing up my own sex life thank you very much."

"You know, I find that if you just..."

"NO MYCROFT! I do not want to hear about anything that goes on in your bedroom. Not a single word."

"I know what I can send you as a congratulations on finally getting the man of your dreams."

"Do I want to know?"

"It's nothing sexual Sherlock, don't worry yourself. I know this lovely little bistro over in Chelsea that has the best pork fillets that i've ever eaten. I will make reservations for you and John, on my card of course."

"What do I have to do in return?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Don't sound so suspicious Sherlock. It's a gift. For a brother in arms."

"A gift? Have you broken something of mine? Please tell me that mummy isn't coming to visit."

"Its just a gift Sherlock. A gift and nothing else."

"Ok, I'm going to believe you. That's very kind of you Mycroft."

"I have been waiting for this moment for months now. You've gotten yourself onto a good thing Sherlock so for goodness sake, dont let it go."

"I have absolutely no intentions of letting John go."

"Glad to here it. I'd love to chat about this all afternoon, but I have a meeting with some very important people in 10 minutes."

"Well, if they are very important you shouldn't keep them waiting."

"Quite right. I'll get Anthea to text you through the reservation details once they have been arranged. Good afternoon Sherlock."

"Afternoon Mycroft."

Sherlock ended the call and thought about what Mycroft had said. He might be one of the most irritating and nosy people that Sherlock knew, but his brother still had the ability to be surprising thoughtful. John would enjoy the fancy reservations and Sherlock would enjoy not having to foot the bill. There were enough bills underneath that jackknife. Smiling to himself, he realised that best of all, he was no longer bored.


	2. No Peace For The Peacemakers

Chapter Two: No Peace for the Peacemakers

AN: Sorry this chapter took so long, but the plot bunnies are being very uncooperative. All but one of them abandoned me halfway through this chapter, jumping up and down excitedly with ideas for the next one. However, one kind little bunny stayed with me and guided me through, slowly and painfully. So finally, here is chapter two. I've also started planning a sequel to this fic, which will be titled Separation. When I say started, I mean almost finished writing. Don't blame me, blame the plot bunnies. It's all their fault. Chapter Three (which may end up being split in two the way it's going) should be up shortly. Much love, Rose.

Sherlock walked into his bedroom to find John, flopped down horizontally and staring intently at the ceiling.

"The colour is called Arctic White I believe."

Sherlock hoped that by injecting some humour into the conversation, he could break the tension that was etched on John's face. He would never admit it, but he absolutely hated it when John was upset. It made him feel uncomfortable because it highlighted just how useless Sherlock could really be. It reminded him that he still had flaws. It was a helplessness that he despised, yet he knew that there was no one to get around it. Sherlock just didn't know what to do when it came to John sometimes. For some reason, everything rational and logical that Sherlock knew about how to interact with people went out the window when it came to John. Sherlock knew how to manipulate people, he had been doing so since he was a young child but he found it so hard to do so with John. There was only one possible explanation, Sherlock concluded, that brought all of the data together. It was the emotional attachment Sherlock felt towards John that clouded his judgment. It all made sense, the data all fit, he thought.

"She saw it coming."

Non-sequitur. Brilliant, he was in one of his guilty moods again. John had been having these personal crisis moments at least once a day, every day for the past three days. Sherlock knew that the following conversation would be about John's breakup with Sarah. He didn't need to try very hard to deduce that. He wondered if he should feel guilty about being the cause of the split. He had never really liked the woman. It wasn't that she wasn't a nice person, he could see that she was pleasant enough, but he could never stop thinking about her as his competition. An enemy to be defeated, as though nameless and faceless.

"She said she had been expecting it."

Was John waiting for an answer? Sherlock surveyed his facial expression before deciding that he was simply venting. He was looking for an ear, someone to listen to him, Sherlock decided. It couldn't be that difficult could it? To listen, observe, and give advice, be impartial. After all, Sherlock was the world's only consulting detective. Advice and observation was how he had made his career. Just stand here and look patient, Sherlock told himself. Let John continue when he is ready.

"For a while by the sounds of it."

Sherlock bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from blurting out a list of all the reasons why Sarah would have been perfectly justified in making that assumption. He felt somewhat awkward, standing there. It made him feel tall and cumbersome, the way he had felt when he was a teenager. He needed to do something to make himself feel less, well, imposing. It was then that Sherlock found himself staring up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out over the edge of the bed.

"Sounds like she is taking it rather well."

Well done, Sherlock congratulated himself for managing to sound both inquisitive and inoffensive.

"Yeah, she has been really good about it. Still acts exactly the same about me at work as she did before _it. _Hasn't started dropping shifts on me, or trying to avoid me at work. We actually had a decent chat over a coffee on Monday."

Sherlock's hatred for the woman was no longer as intense, but he still felt put out that John had been having coffee with her. It wasn't fair to keep thinking of Sarah as the enemy, Sherlock knew that. But it was still so soon after the battle had been won that he couldn't help but continue to think of her as competition. As time passed he was certain that the feelings of bitterness, jealousy and rivalry would fade, but right now it still felt somewhat like a ceasefire.

"Did you? See, she isn't losing sleep over it John, so why are you?"

John's face contorted into a grimace and Sherlock feared he had said the wrong thing.

"I'm not losing sleep over the break up Sherlock. But I'm still not sure it's a good idea that we share a bedroom so soon. I don't think I'm ready to share a bed with another person. It disrupts my sleep pattern."

It could hardly be argued that it was for sleep reasons. Sherlock was well aware that John slept far more soundly when he was at home than if he were out at a crime scene or pursuing a case. Even if Sherlock were awake and pacing, or playing the violin, it was obvious that John had been at peace through out the night. Besides, Sherlock knew that John had never slept well with _Sarah_ in the room, even though the two had never shared a bed. He also knew that it had nothing to do with the sofa, or the lilo. So really, why did John have to insist on making so much fuss about the prospect of sharing a bedroom permanently?

"John, I've seen you wake up refreshed every morning. You are getting a perfectly adequate amount of sleep."

Tell me the real reason, Sherlock pleaded with John in his head. If he knew, maybe there was something he could do to help.

"So I'm getting enough sleep. It still doesn't feel right."

That was sleep definitely ruled out, good. Now if only Sherlock could get him to open up. Ask an open ended question, don't make it too leading, he instructed himself.

"What is it that doesn't feel right?"

He watched carefully as John considered his answer, searching for any hints or clues that might appear on the man's face or in his movements.

"The timing. It's too soon. I feel..."

His voice trailed off, as though he was afraid to actually speak about his feelings. Did he think that Sherlock would not take him seriously, or that he would not understand? It was so hard to read those sorts of emotions. Best to let him speak when he is ready, Sherlock decided.

"I feel like it's disrespectful to Sarah. I mean, we've only just broken up and I'm already shacking up with someone else."

Sherlock sighed with relief. This was something he felt that he could fix, that he could talk John through.

"You were already shacking up with me, when Sarah came along, before things got serious."

John shot him a look that made Sherlock feel strangely like kissing him. Was it normal to want to kiss someone when they were angry with you, he wondered? Perhaps it was just that it was John, and Sherlock always felt like that around him.

"Sherlock, you _know_ what I mean."

They were looking into each other's eyes now, an unspoken agreement to a staring contest. The tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife, as the cliché goes, Sherlock thought. He couldn't take it anymore. There were too many things running through his mind, activities that he and John could be getting up to.

"I'm going to lock the door."

They were sitting in a tiny cafe in Kingsbury, that had four small tables and seemed to be run by a single staff member. It was almost literally a hole in the wall. John had ordered tea for two and some toasted ham and tomato sandwiches. It hadn't taken long for the tea to arrive.

"I had an old lady down the road from us tell me that she heard us a few nights ago."

It sounded like John had been wanting to talk about this all morning.

"From the sounds of it, people could hear us in Birmingham."

John began to cough as inhaled the tea he was about to drink. Honestly, when would that man learn that he just shouldn't try and consume anything during these sorts of conversations, Sherlock thought.

"Oh God. So everyone knows that we...you know."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. John was a doctor, someone who dealt with embarrassment every day, talked about sexual health regularly, and yet he was still so utterly coy about his own experiences.

"Had sex John? Twice? Yes. Even the married couple next door. They actually congratulated me when I went to the sandwich bar. Said it was about time we realised what a good thing we had."

John tried to talk but lapsed into a coughing fit as his lungs struggled to cope.

'You do realise that everyone had been assuming that we were having sex for weeks now. Even when you were with Sarah. The only difference now is that everyone has evidence. Audible proof as it happens."

John's eyes widened at the last remark.

"Audible proof? You don't mean that-"

He stopped as though unable to continue. The cup of tea lay forgotten on the table.

"You do know Daniel, from two doors down? He was calling his brother, who happens to know Lestrade. The brother wasn't home, so Daniel was about to leave a message when we became particularly loud. Apparently the recording consists of Daniel laughing hysterically with us faintly in the background. Lestrade sent me a text, requesting verification."

Sherlock actually thought John might explode he went such a deep shade of red.

"Verification? That it was us? What the bloody hell did you tell him?"

Sherlock could tell that this conversation was going in the wrong direction, but he knew John would not let up until he had an answer. There was no point lying either, because he could check with Lestrade himself.

"I haven't responded. I fear that my silence has been taken as being affirmation. However, it would be foolish to lie for there are so many witnesses."

John didn't respond, but began to stare earnestly at his teacup, as though if he channeled enough energy through his eyes, it might do something interesting. Sherlock could see his brain sorting through different thoughts and emotions. The concept that neighbours and colleagues had intimate knowledge of his private life wasn't sitting well with John, that was obvious. More subtle were John's concerns about how Sarah would react to the news, something that Sherlock frankly did not care about. Embarrassment, uncertainty, anxiety, fear, these were all emotions that Sherlock could read from John's facial expressions. Suddenly, Sherlock felt uncomfortable with reading so much about John with just visual cues. It wasn't sitting right today, he felt like he was prying. It was unfamiliar and Sherlock didn't like it. He tried to focus on something else, to take his mind off of John's mind. Sherlock found himself thinking the texts that he had received from Mycroft, focusing on the one about flowers. If he and John were going to go out for a dinner date, a proper date where it was just the two of them, was he expected to provide a gift? He had observed many couples exchange small trinkets or tokens of affection whilst out, it seemed to be the accepted thing to do.

"John, do you like flowers?"

The comment seemed to catch the doctor off guard. He seemed to be wary of some kind of intellectual trap, Sherlock could almost hear the mind working through what possible second meaning there could be. There was none, none that Sherlock had intended at least.

"Not really, no. I've never been properly diagnosed, but the symptoms tell me that I'm generally allergic."

Right, no flowers, that made things easier. Sherlock picked up the toasted sandwich in front of him and nibbled on it, even though he wasn't hungry. His thoughts were on the weekend, and his first proper date with John. What was truly surprising was that he was actually nervous. Sherlock was never nervous, even when face to face with some of the most dangerous people on the planet. But his mind was racing, thinking about what to wear, how to act, what to say. He hated to admit it, but Sherlock was completely enamored by John and he didn't really know how to cope with it.


End file.
